


All I Want for Christmas

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [24]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: The first Christmas after the repeal of the Sokovia Accords will be one to remember. Steve's team moving back to the Tower, Jane and Thor saying good-bye before Ragnorok, and Tony and Pepper will finalize Maria's adoption.And maybe some false assumptions regarding lab safety and human test subjects.*Takes place 12/22/16 - 12/28/16





	1. Wicked Ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlynnisIsta8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisIsta8/gifts), [Katiekrm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katiekrm/gifts), [Filiafamilias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filiafamilias/gifts), [meeks39](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks39/gifts).



> It takes me a while, but I am getting back to the requests from some of my favorite readers. And who doesn't love Tony and Darcy together in the lab?
> 
> Katiekrm and meeks39 are up first with requests for more Tony & Darcy.  
> Then Sam POV for GlynnisIsta8.  
> And finally, Maria's adoption for filiafamilias.

**December 22, 2016**

 

Tony carefully, carefully set the new prototype ocular contact into the wand insertion tool and watched Darcy out of the corner of his eye. He had called her up to his workshop on the premise that he needed to review the temporary housing situation for the team – whom were scheduled to arrive from Canada that afternoon, but then he had studiously ignored her after she opened the door. Right on target,  _first time for everything_ , DUM-E had knocked over a container of hydraulic lubricant between Darcy and the door. She was trapped inside until the robot cleaned it up. And Tony had assigned Butterfingers to the task, knowing it would take three times as long as necessary.

A small part of his brain did wonder if trapping a beautiful young woman in his lab so he could perform experiments on her made him an evil villain. He promptly scoffed at the idea. Villains, mad scientists in particular, never achieved their ultimate goals. Or even small milestones. Tony’s rate of success instantly precluded him from being labeled a bad guy.

“Tony,” Darcy whined, “Can you please do something about this. I have actual work to do, you know? And a plane to catch?”

“We all have planes to catch, Lewis,” he responded, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t see him adding the artificial tear solution. Slightly higher salinity on the surface of the eye would help with transmission. And the resulting irritation was unlikely to do more than make her eye pink. Maybe a little bloodshot. And a thirty-two percent chance of temporary blindness. But it would definitely be only temporary. Eight, twelve hours, max.

“Yes, but not everyone has the luxury of having the plane wait for them, Tony.” She pushed herself up onto a table, irreverently scooting aside equipment 

“They should. I can’t even imagine – commercial air travel? I don’t know how you survive, Lewis. Have you seen the statistics for the germs on those seats? And the food-”

“They don’t serve food anymore. Just pretzels. When was the last time you were on a commercial plane?”

“Eh, I’ve seen them in movies. Peanuts?”

“Nah, too much risk for allergies. Only in movies? That’s sad. Or awesome? I’m not sure.” She pulled out her phone and started checking messages. _Excellent, distracted._

“Awesome. At least you can drink.”

“You have to pay for alcohol now. Even in first class only the first drink is complimentary. Air travel pretty much blows. Like, blows big, hairy, wrinkled moose balls. Super bad.”

Tony had to blink away that image. Lewis was nothing if not descriptive.

She continued, “And my Dad invited Mom and Sheryl too, like always, but Sheryl’s schedule is actually free, so they’re coming. I think Sheryl wants to do a like, late Hanukkah thing. It is so weird that she can reconcile paying thousands of dollars to have their house decorated with Christmas lights, but still insist on keeping a kosher diet. So we can still have prime rib for Christmas dinner, but Dad would never serve bacon at breakfast while Sheryl is there. He thinks it’s rude. Hello? It’s not like she isn’t aware of the concept of bacon. Nobody is going to make her eat it. And if I want to invoke the shame of my ancestors and break with the teachings of-”

“But you’ll see us at New Year’s, right?” Tony backpedaled hard when he heard the anxiety in his own voice. _Fucking absurd._ He carefully recapped the fake tears and forced himself to sound nonchalant. “I mean, it’s just the world’s coolest sub-mature human being that you would be disappointing. No big deal, Lewis. I understand if you have better things to do, but the kid-”

“Oh, don’t try to play me, Tony.” She laughed. “You know I wouldn’t miss the big day for anything. Maria’s adoption will be the highlight of my year – which is a pretty big deal, all things considered. And I was told there would be cake, so, there’s that. I have to run back up to the facility to check on Jane and say bye to Thor, and maybe stop by the Tower just to make sure all my little ducklings are following orders, and then I’ll head out to Malibu. You’ll have me for three whole days, Tony. Imagine what Pepper and I could- What is that?”

“This?” He gestured with the tablet in his left hand, keeping his right low and inconspicuous. “You’ve seen a StarkPad before, Lewis. You have one. Although, you’ll be interested to know, I’ve been tweaking the design and playing with some new palladium filaments in the-”

“The other thing, wise ass.” Her eyes were narrow behind her black-framed glasses. Not ideal, but that was why Tony had thought to also order a wire speculum. He whistled, and U whirred over, helping to box Darcy in and carrying the ophthalmology kit Tony had put together.

“What? Oh...Oh this!” He held up his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time. “Well, you know how you are always saying that StarkGlass would be great if only you didn’t have to wear glasses and-”

“I’ve never said that.” She looked ready to push off the table, so Tony took two big steps until her knees were pressed between his hip and U’s chassis. 

“Oh, what? No, I’m sure that was you. Yes, now I remember. It was when we were talking about you having a more hands on role in Team activities and organization. Yes, I was saying how it was a shame that you were always so busy, and then you said-”

“I said I wanted in on the next design of the uniforms, so I could ogle the supers. Tony. What the hell are you doing?” Darcy’s face twisted with irritation, disgust, and a twinge of concern.

Tony had dropped his tablet and clasped his left hand over hers. She glanced down, “Are you touching me, Tony? Are you okay?”

“I just. I feel this is a moment, Lewis. We should share this moment. All of the things we have accomplished together. Look into my eyes, Lewis. Contemplate the deep, er, connection that we share through this vast working of, of, justice. Yes, justice!”

“Are you fucking drunk?”

“U! Now!”


	2. Gun In My Hand

**December 22, 2016**

Steve took a deep breath and pushed the button for Tony’s lab. He knew the other man would be leaving soon to spend Christmas with Pepper. And it was no surprise to Steve that his travel plans just managed to have him out of the Tower before the others were supposed to arrive. But before Tony left, Steve needed to make certain they were on the same page. 

Things had been better since Canada. Since President Ellis signed the pardons. But their relationship was still strained. The only time they ever spoke was during meetings with politicians and a very select few media outlets. Or when Darcy Lewis was present to act as a sort of buffer between them. Steve understood the impetus, he wished more than once that he could have someone stand between him and all of the uncomfortable interactions he had to get through each day, but Darcy  c ouldn’t always be there. For the team to be successful, he and Tony had to learn to move past everything and work together again. Ideally, with more trust, mutual respect, and honest communication than in the past. 

Before Wanda and Sam – and especially Bucky – arrived in New York, Steve needed to have everything sorted. He missed his friends. The idea made him snort in the privacy of the elevator. Two months ago he would have given almost anything for a bed that was big enough for his frame and enough solitary space that he wasn’t living right on top of three other men and a woman who, and he loved  Wanda  like a sister, insisted that ranch dressing was an all-purpose condiment and sandwich spread. Having his own room with clean sheets and pillows that had been washed since he went into the ice was great. A shower he didn’t have to duck to get under and endless hot water was amazing. The release of tension from knowing that there was enough security in place that he would not need to keep a constant watch –  _I forgot how nice living on Stark’s dime was_ , was a blessed relief. It was all a heady combination of indulgence and simply not being a fugitive.

He wasn’t going to give up the luxury of clean sheets –  _that motel in Bangalore disguised as a sweat shop_ – or personal security –  _staying up for fifty-two hours straight with little more than fifteen minutes here or there while they all twitched with their hands on weapons, waiting for the soldiers above to storm the cargo hold_ – without trying his  damnedest to make things work.

Steve straightened his spine and nodded to himself as the elevator doors opened.  _You are both adults. Tony knows what he did wrong, and so do you. This is just-_

A feminine shriek had him tensing for battle. Tony had impressive sound dampening in most of the Tower, but Steve’s ears were far more sensitive than the average fifty-year-old-death-metal-enthusiastic-engineer. 

“Friday, status?” He asked quietly.

“There are no unauthorized persons in the vicinity, Captain Rogers. The Boss and Ms. Lewis are in his workshop. Boss has requested-”

“I said no, Tony!” The screamed denial was loud, and familiar, and had enough of a serious tone to it to send Steve running down the hall.

“Friday! Open the door!”

“Current security measures prevent that, Captain.”

Steve could hear Tony now too.

“Just try it!”

“No, Tony! That looks awful!”

“You might like it, lots of people like it!”

“That’s just what they say to your face!”

He could hear a struggle, and his eyes widened. He knew Tony had a reputation, but Steve never thought it included coercion. “Open the damn door, Friday!”

“Captain-” But more shouting drowned the AI out.

“Fuck! Get that away from me!”

“It’ll be good!  Come on, I need this!”

“Keep that outta my face, Tony!”

“Come on! Be a good girl and open up.”

Steve braced his feet and broke through the door. Glass crumbled around him into a crunchy sea of blue-green that he ground to dust under his boots. In an instant, he took in Tony, leaning over a dark-haired woman with her back pressed to the table, one leg flashing a great deal of skin as she kicked into the air. Fury rushed through him and he wrapped  a hand around Tony’s bicep and ripped the older man away. He positioned himself between Darcy, and Tony’s groaning body.  _If she had been..._

“What the hell-!” Tony was yelling even as he stood up.

Darcy flailed behind him “Gah, my eye! What the hell? What the hell? Tony – this is! I can see in infrared you asshole!”  Steve hesitated, body still braced for action.

One of the bots moved to assist Tony but he pushed it away. “You are absolutely no help! Where were you when Righteous Virtue destroyed my door – useless piece of junk! Friday, where are my metrics?”

“Bringing Cornea Optical Transmission online, Boss. My programming requires that I also point out you have broken three Stark Industries lab safety regulations, six OSHA regulations, two human-”

“Yeah, yeah, how is it doing?”

“It? It?” Darcy’s voice had reached a timbre that Steve was certain only he and dogs could hear, which explained why Tony ignored her. “What the ever-loving fuck did you put in my fucking eye, you narcissistic manipulative asshole?”

“Calm down, Lewis. It’s just a contact lens.” He leaned closer to the holographic projection that Friday brought up. “Oh, that’s interesting. How is the focus? Do you feel like you are looking through the infrared, or is it impairing-”

“Just a-”

“Tony,” interjected in his sternest voice. Then he fell silent. He wasn’t sure what to say after that. Darcy obviously hadn’t been the object of unwanted sexual advances, but she had been...experimented on? Maybe? She didn’t seem hurt, but it was hard to tell with the way she was holding her hand over her face and snarling in anger. He had just decided he should turn and assess her status, when Darcy took things into her own hands. She jumped off the table and stalked up to Tony.

“That looks really good,” Tony said, watching a live feed of what Darcy was seeing projected onto the hologram. “Try focusing on the middle ground, that should bring up the, hm. No. Maybe-” His mouth snapped shut when he realized she was within striking distance. 

“Tony. What happens. When I take. This thing. Out. Of. My. Eye.”

“Er. Nothing. Probably nothing. It’s only slightly thicker than a standard contact lens.” He puffed up a little, talking about his own genius. “I miniaturized camera components and integrated a basic HUD. In the next model I think-”

With a flick of her fingers, Darcy had pulled the contact from her eye and flung it onto the table.

“Gah! Lewis! Careful! That is only one of three prototypes! How am I supposed to make a live stream of team maneuvers if I can’t get human testing done?” He carefully picked it up off the table and snapped at U to bring him saline and a storage container. “Look, I’ll get this all cleaned up and then you just need to wear it for another six, ten hours. And if I could get you in a variety of settings, different lighting. Somewhere dim – strip joints for example, or your bedroom. That would be fine. And maybe running, or-”

“Tony.” Darcy leaned in close, closer than Steve had ever seen anyone but Pepper near the billionaire. He was a little concerned that she would be able to do Tony harm before he could intervene. He was a little concerned that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to intervene. “If you ever try to test equipment on me again without my permission, I will shove my fist so far down your throat you’ll think you have a new arc reactor. Clear?”

“Lewis, I hardly think-”

She leaned even closer, her lips almost touching Tony’s ear. Steve couldn’t hear exactly what she said, but Tony’s face paled, and then he jerked away. “Fine. God! Whatever. Just leave then. Don’t you have packing...or something?”

Steve  stared as she pivoted on one tennis shoe to leave the workshop .  Her right eye was pink and irritated, but other than that she didn’t seem injured. Darcy paused next to him and snatched her glasses off the workbench where they had fallen during the struggle. She waved over her shoulder as she moved on, shoving the glasses onto her face. “Thanks for the assist, Rogers -”

“Your-” Steve began.

“-but I had it handled.”

He could only continue to stare at the door that swung shut behind her. Tony was muttering, degrading his robots and poking at the frozen image of his own face from Darcy’s perspective. Adrenaline, with no outlet, was pooling in his chest and making him antsy. He let out a heavy breathe and turned to Tony.

“What the hell just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if there is a scene you feel I've left out but must read, please let me know. Thank you for sticking with me and continuing to read and comment.


	3. Whiskey Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV, as requested by GlynnisIsta8.

**December 23, 2016**

  


Sam followed Barnes  across the landing pad at a sedate pace, his  backpack over his shoulder, and  watched the former assassin visually check the perimeter and security measures of the Tower as they made their way to the elevator. For obvious reasons, Barnes had never been inside before, and he was coiled tighter than cobra waiting to spring. Sam had been assured by Steve – and then he double-checked with Natasha because Steve could be a bit of an idiot sometimes – that Tony would not be in the building when they arrived. If that wasn’t the case, he was one hundred percent prepared to pull his wing pack out and jump out a window.

Sam counseled Steve occasionally because he viewed it more as helping out a friend than anything else. He  had  worked with Wanda on the Raft and continued to do so because she had desperately needed to build and maintain relationships to the team  for her own stability . Steve had asked him to talk to Barnes as a favor, and because  t he  guy, understandably, didn’t trust doctors – not even the brilliant, kind ones offered by T’Challa. As much as Sam wanted to punch Barnes in the face sometimes, if ever there was anyone who needed an entire cadre of mental health professionals, it was the POW.

That being understood, he was not counseling Tony Stark. In fact, if there was a just and good God looking over this world as his Mama and Mrs. Lindy, his favorite Sunday School teacher, had always said, he would never, ever, not in a million years, be called on to listen to Stark’s problems. Thinking about it made Sam want to drink.  Heavily. Or break out in hives.

Or throw himself off of a ninety-plus story building to avoid that whole situation.

Healthy? He actually thought it sho wed a mature and well-formed understanding of his own psychological needs and limits. Also, he didn’t want to get shot.

“Welcome to Avengers Tower, Sergeant Barnes.” Friday’s voice added another level of tension to Barnes’ shoulders, but he reacted normally enough by nodding shortly. “And may I say, Staff Sergeant Wilson, that it is a pleasure to have you back with us.”

Sam refrained from asking if the AI was denoting her own pleasure, which was a little creepy, or Stark’s, which was a stretch of the imagination if not an outright lie.

“Thanks, Friday. It’s nice to not be a wanted criminal. Is Steve available?”

“Captain Rogers is currently on his way back to the Tower. I have alerted him to your arrival, and he has requested that you meet him in the Yinsen offices.” Sam raised an eyebrow. Darcy had gone over the whole concept of the new foundation during one of the many conference calls after Thanksgiving, but he wasn’t aware the offices were already set up.

“Sounds good. Thanks.” He leaned against the elevator wall, and watched as Barnes positioned himself to the right of the doors, out of the way of potential fire. He did not move for any weapons, which Sam took as an ongoing sign of his recovery. Frankly, if it had been him in Barnes’ shoes, entering Stark’s home, he would have wanted to be armed.

_ Armed. That will never get old. _

“You and Steve got plans for Christmas?” He said instead of voicing his thoughts. Sometimes, worrying about other people’s mental health really cramped his style. 

Barnes snorted. “Yeah. Thought we’d bake cookies and write letters to Santa.”

Sam smiled as sweetly as possible. “Aw, that’s great, man. You gonna ask him to bring you a knife set? Or maybe a less emo haircut?”

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

“A radio flyer?” Sam continued, really getting into it. “Dear Santa, I have been a very good boy this year, and only annoyed my awesome and handsome friend Sam twice a day, so I would like a toy truck, and a-”

“Handsome? You should ask for a mirror.”

“I know! You should ask for a girlfriend. I mean, she might need to be blind. And have an age kink. And a thing for broody atmosphere.”

“A blind, goth gal with daddy issues?” Barnes scowled at Sam. “Don’t push your secret fantasies on me, Wilson.”

“Hm. Well-” The elevator dinged softly, interrupting Sam, and opened on a scene of mild confusion. Two Stark Industries security guards were arguing with a whip thin man in an open lobby area. 

“-can’t go down to get it! Everyone else has left for the day except Ms. Lewis and she had a very full schedule!” He paled, “There is no one here I can ask!”

“Look, sir. We are here to maintain safety in the building, not to fetch deliveries for you. Please, do not call security unless there is an incident that actually requires our services.” The guard who spoke was being far more patient that Sam probably would have been, and his colleague looked like he was struggling not to roll his eyes. The thin guy was practically wringing his hands, worry lines deep on his forehead.

“But-” He stopped mid-rebuttal, finally catching sight of Sam and Barnes. His eyes widened and he gulped audibly. Sam stepped out first, keeping his expression friendly. The pardon of Captain America and his team had been national news for over two weeks, and all the talking heads seemed to be in agreement that they were good guys again, but it was always best to start with a smile.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. Is this the Yinsen Foundation?”

“I, er...” 

“Sir,” the older security guard straightened his spine and nodded respectfully. “It is, Staff Sergeant. And, welcome home.” His companion nodded as well with an awed smile.

“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” Their eyes shifted to something behind him, and Sam hoped Barnes was using the _there’s-a-real-person-in-here-and-not-a-killer_ resting face that they had discussed. “Anything I can help with?”

“Delivery,” the thin guy blurted, then winced.

At the same time the guard answered, “No, sir. Please, don’t let us keep you.” He stepped aside and motioned for the other man to do the same and they both moved to the stair exit. It opened from the other side before they could reach it, admitting Steve, who was carrying a large box.

“Oh, thank god,” thin guy whispered. 

“Captain,” surprise and a little bit of censure colored the security guard’s voice, “is that the delivery for Yinsen? You didn’t need to get that.”

“No problem, Brad. Evan,” Steve smiled at both guards. Of course he remembered their names. One month back and Steve had probably memorized the names of spouses and children for everyone that worked in the Tower, he was just that kind of guy. “I had just finished my run when it arrived, and I was already coming up.”

No one was looking, so Sam really did roll his eyes. Only Steve would think it was no problem to carry what looked like a substantial package up seventy or so flights of stairs. After what was no doubt his customary twenty mile run. 

“Hey!” Steve’s gaze turned on them and his smile widened to a grin. “Have you met with D – Ms. Lewis yet?” Sam desperately, desperately wanted to make fun of the D- slip, but he wouldn’t do that to Steve with an audience of strangers. _Sometimes_ _I’m_ _so nice it hurt_ _s_ _._

“Just on our way in. Need any help with that? Barnes is available.”

“Punk has two good arms,” Barnes mumbled softly enough that no one but Sam and Steve, with his crazy hearing, would catch it. “Think he can manage.” 

The guards made their goodbyes to Steve and the thin guy scuttled back into the only lit office, so Sam replied, 

“What’s wrong with your arms? Tired from all the flying you did today – oh, wait. No, that was me who did all the work. Lazy Army assholes.”

“Watch it, Sam.” Steve smiled and stepped up to them, waiting for one of them to open the door. There was a brushed steel plaque that announced that it was the _Yinsen Foundation, Director D. Lewis_ , to one side and a yellow sticky note at eye level that announced none would be admitted unless on party business. Barnes read it and snorted again.

“You’re outnumbered, two to one,” Steve continued, leading the way through an empty reception area and another frosted glass door and into a large, open office space. There was room for maybe ten or fifteen generous cubicles, although there were only a couple set up in addition to some long worktables. The thin guy was standing at the far end of the space, shooting them nervous glances and talking to someone out of sight around a low partition. As they drew closer, he could make out a conference room in the corner, and next to it two private offices guarded by a thin and lethally modern desk. The first office was dark but had a discreet plaque that read, _Research Division, N. Romanoff_. If Sam had been any more surprised, his eyes would have fallen out of his head. 

“-here now,” thin guy was hissing.

There was a hollow thunk from under the desk. “Ow! Fuck! Goddammit, Tommy! Would you just hand me the fucking cable?” The thin guy, Tommy, did as he was asked  and then promptly speed walked through a door at the far side of the office . “Finally!  One bad Cat-5.  For fuck’s sake, shouldn’t have to fill out a requisition...” Her words trailed off with another series of curses and then a slightly mussed brown bun popped up  above Darcy Lewis’ pretty face. “ Should work now.” She stepped out, brushing off the knees of her leggings and offering a smile as she held out a hand. 

It did not escape Sam’s notice that she looked appreciatively at all of them. Or that her gaze lingered on Steve.  It also didn’t escape Sam’s notice that Darcy filled out her leggings and silky-looking green tunic in an exceptional way.

“Sam Wilson, I presume? We haven’t met in person, and may I be the first to say, that is a real shame.”

“You only say that ‘cause ya’ haven’t met him,” Barnes muttered. Sam held in a grin. He had known the two spent time together during the Canadian meetings, but they must have gotten along well for the reticent man to joke with her.

“Don’t be a sourpuss, James T. I still like you best. But I meant it was a shame for him.”

“Same thing applies.” Barnes was almost smiling, and Steve was grinning like an idiot watching the two interact.

Her eyes narrowed behind black rimmed glasses. “I am fucking  _delightful_ , James Barnes .” Sam would have enjoyed listening to her bicker with the former Winter Soldier, but Steve claimed her attention.

“I believe this is for you, Ms. Lewis.” He held up the box.

“Why, Captain,” she batted her lashes, “presents? So soon? We barely – wait.” She frowned. “Did you carry that all the way up here? That has to weigh thirty pounds. _Egh_ , super soldiers.”

“It’s no trouble, is there somewhere I can set it for you?” Steve was blushing, just a little, and if Sam didn’t know how socially inept the man was with women, he would have sworn Steve flexed a little extra, showing off the muscles under his t-shirt.

“Hm.” She did look at the muscles, but Sam gave her credit for returning her gaze to Steve’s face after only a couple of seconds. “Well, I was just going to leave it in my office until I’m done packing, but it needs to be on the helicopter tomorrow. Tony’s comeuppance wouldn’t be complete without it. I’ll get a dolly to move it eventually.”

“You’re on the lower landing pad, right?” At her nod, Steve smiled even wider. Sam had the sudden urge to laugh. Steve’s game, up to this point, had consisted entirely of running around punching things and looking bashful. Apparently he had added flexing and helping girls move into his repertoire. _Classic_. “I can just take it up for you, so you can – so you won’t, uh, have to worry about it later. I’ll meet you, er – everyone, back on the residential floors. If that’s okay?”

“Beat it, Rogers.” Sam finally took pity on the guy, who was swiftly devolving into stammers and repetition. “Ms. Lewis, Nat said you could show us where we’ll be staying?”

“Please, it’s Darcy.” She slung her arm through Barnes’ metal one and lead the way out, Steve trailing behind them. “Not just where you’ll be staying. I know where Tony stashed all the good liquor. And I’m happy to send you home for Christmas with enough outrageously expensive booze to kill an elephant. Or Thor. Whichever takes more. Probably Thor.”

Thirty minutes later, Sam had dropped his bag in a sparse, but luxurious studio apartment which Darcy said was just to supplement his place at the upstate facility. If, in the future, he decided to live full-time in New York she had a larger apartment reserved for him. Then they had gone up a couple of floors to a spacious three bedroom place with deep black leather couches and a gas fireplace. It was for Steve and Barnes, at least until they decided what they were going to do on a more permanent basis. Steve had chimed in that Tony had already talked to him about a place in Brooklyn. 

The whole tour was quick, efficient, mostly for Barnes’ benefit, and punctuated by  easy humor and blinding smiles. If Steve hadn’t seen her first, Sam would have been tempted to ask Darcy Lewis for a drink.

“That’s pretty much it,” she summed up, returning to the entry hall in Steve’s place. “Anything I left out, Friday knows. And gentlemen,” she looked pointedly at Steve, “you have my number. Call anytime. Except before eight. I don’t do mornings. Or people who shame those of us who eat in bed. Sheets can be changed, comfort food in times of need is irreplaceable. You need me for anything else, Captain?” 

She said it with a straight face, but Steve still fumbled, “Ah, no. No, thank you.”

Without a hitch, she turned to Sam, “Helicopter takes off for Virginia at nine tomorrow. Be there or – actually, I’ll totally wait for you. No rush. Just have Fri let me know if you’re running late.” She reached back for the door knob and narrowed her gaze on Barnes.  “Jimmy, have you thought anymore about my business proposition?”

Sam had no idea what she was talking about, but the way Barnes’ eyes widened and he carefully inhaled spoke volumes. Sam really, really wanted to know .  Steve looked equally confused.

“Er. No thanks.”

“You sure? No need to be shy. We can start online – build your brand. I’m telling you, this is a goldmine.”

“I’m good.” Barnes looked both uncomfortable and pleased. Which was disturbing on multiple levels.

“Okay.” She pulled open the door and held up her thumb and little finger to the side of her face and mouthed, _call me,_ to the world’s deadliest assassin.

“What was that all about?” Steve asked after the door shut softly.

Barnes shook his head. “ Better question.  What was in that box?”

Sam chuckled out loud, “ Even better question.  How do you think she feels about  handsome Air Force vets? ” Steve frowned hard. Barnes scowled. Sam just laughed harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think the Avengers et al would ask Santa for?


	4. Interlude in D

**December 25, 2016**

 

“So, what did you say?” Sheryl was refilling hot chocolate mugs in her new Christmas pajamas – kittens shooting laser guns, but that didn’t stop her from looking gorgeous doing it. Not that she was perfect. Without the makeup and lighting and on-call hair stylist, Darcy’s step mom didn’t have the gloss that the public was used to seeing in movies and on magazine covers. There were tiny, fine lines around her eyes and her impeccably dyed _Widow Red_ hair was in a messy knot on top of her head. Darcy felt like the pjs really gave her an edgy look, though. She glanced down at her own matching flannel pants. _Totally worth the overnight shipping._

“I called him a bag of dicks.”

Sheryl spluttered, dripping hot chocolate out around her startled grin. Darcy continued,

“And, I probably shouldn’t have said it, I know.” She glanced toward the swinging door that lead to the family room where low music and the murmurs of her parents were indistinct but comforting. “You absolutely cannot tell on me.”

“I can’t tell your dad and _my_ _wife_ that their only child called a three star general – who has publicly hunted down American heroes – a bag of dicks? To his face?” Sheryl deadpanned, “I can’t imagine why they would be upset.”

Darcy pulled off her new hat, fake blue suede with a downy wool interior and ear flaps, fluffed her hair, and then set the present from her dad on the counter. “The thing is,” she continued as if Sheryl hadn’t spoken, “I think maybe I didn’t really get my point across?”

“I’m not sure there is more than one way to interpret that statement.”

“What I really meant was that he is a bag of _flaccid_ dicks. Like, not even useful dicks.” Darcy had trouble holding in her smile while Sheryl laughed. Now that the pardon of the Avengers had been made public, it felt good to be able to share some things about her job with her family. Some things. And mostly just Sheryl. She told her dad stories like Tony trying to buy her gold paperclips and ‘gosh, traffic can be a bear’ and they both gamely pretended that she wasn’t cherry picking anecdotes for his sanity. She told her mom about Friday. Sheryl, on the other hand, was down for gossip without judgment.

Without too much judgment.

Darcy waved one hand in the air. “And I feel that’s how he got promoted? Somebody was handed this bag of flaccid dicks and was all like, ‘uh, I don’t want this’ and just handed them off again to the first person who was too dumb to ask what was in there? And now, that guy is like, ‘what the fuck? Where did all these flaccid dicks come from? I gots to get rid of this shit.’ So here we are today, politicians and the Pentagon, and probably Ross’ wife - poor woman, are all trying to pass around this bag of dicks and hoping nobody figures out what they’re getting – but nobody really does anything with it.”

Sheryl was snorting, her face bright red, bent over the kitchen counter and in dangerous proximity to the simmering pot of hot chocolate.

“What do you...what do you-” her own strangled giggles interrupted her.

“I know. What do you do? Chuck it in the ocean? That seems like a punishment to fish, and like, surfers who might see it. I’d say space, but apparently there is a lot going on up there, and those people don’t need the complication.” Darcy sighed. “My life is full of the big philosophical questions.”

Amy Lewis-Fate, in matching kitty laser pajamas including a shirt that was impossibly stretched across her chest reading ‘pew, pew’ leaned in through the door. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing mom,” Darcy answered with as straight a face as she could manage. It wasn’t very straight. “Do you and Dad want candy canes in yours?”

Amy narrowed her eyes at Sheryl, who was collapsed against the counter, wheezing. “What’s wrong with her?”

Darcy frowned and tried to look innocent. “I guess she can’t handle dicks?”

That sent Sheryl into another peal of laughter and she slid to the floor, back against the cabinets, tears streaming down her face.

Amy rolled her eyes. “We’re lesbians, not nuns, Darcy. I’m certain Sher could figure it out.” Darcy went to her knees next to Sheryl, laughing just as hard. “Honestly,” Amy continued, moving forward to finish the hot chocolate, “I can’t take you two anywhere.”

_Best Christmas ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This joke has been rolling around in my head for a while, I just had to use it somewhere.


	5. Cue the Organist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Vision. I feel I don't get to his POV often enough, but every time I do I enjoy writing his observations.

**December 25, 2016**

 

Vision sat at the island in Thor and Jane Foster’s residence and watched the Asgardian mix pancake batter. Thor moved efficiently, as if he had done the task many times before, and hummed while he stirred. It was not the same tune that was playing on the stereo in the sunken living room, but was something Vision suspected was from Thor’s own world. Jane Foster was still sleeping, after a late night of Christmas Eve celebrations with the few other residents at the facility that had stayed through the holidays. Vision’s eyes glanced at the closed bedroom door, wondering if he should have ordered additional soundproofing insulation for the structure if Thor frequently made so much noise while his...and Vision stumbled mentally there. Darcy called Thor Dr. Foster’s boyfriend, Mr. Stark used varied and mildly insulting other terms, and Thor called the small woman his ‘lady’ which seemed both infinitely more polite as well as less descriptive. Vision’s upper abdomen twisted uncomfortably at the conclusion that he would likely never have the experience necessary to understand such distinctions.

He forcefully turned his mind from that line of thought.

“Thank you again for inviting me to share in this day with you, Thor. I know that you plan on leaving soon, and that as such would no doubt prefer to spend time with your...Jane Foster.”

Thor grinned, his beard shiny and sticky in one corner from taste testing a new kind of syrup. “No, my friend! This is a day of celebration on Midgard! It should be spent among comrades and loved ones. Were the Colonel Rhodey in residence, Jane and I would have invited him to breakfast as well. Although,” he frowned slightly, leaning against the counter and gazing at Vision in all seriousness, “Darcy and Jane sometimes refer to this meal as brunch. Or brekinner. I am not certain of the rules, but it seems that this meal of fried cakes is special regardless of the time of day at which it is eaten. So it must be appropriate for this festival day as well, yes?” He was waiting for a response, but Vision wasn’t certain he had one.

“Not having a well developed sense of taste, I am afraid I am not the best individual to question in this matter.”

“Ah, it is a trifling issue.” Thor grinned again and poured out the first round of pancakes. “Would you please slice the green melons? Although Jane would not mind, Darcy insists that meals should include either a fruit or vegetable – for nutritional purposes.” Thor appeared determined to ignore the serious situation looming before them, both the concerns he and Vision had discussed regarding the Infinity Stones, and his impending departure which would keep him away from Jane Foster for an unknown length of time. As his guest, Vision could only do his utmost to follow Thor’s lead.

Vision pulled three honeydew melons toward him along with a cutting board and knife. He identified the fruit easily enough but had never personally eaten any. They had been on the list of new foods that he was gradually trying with W-

“Does Jane Foster celebrate this holiday in the neo-Christian manner or in the athestic-commercial sense?” He focused on carefully splitting fruit and removing seeds to keep his mind from wandering.

“Hm. Your second term is unfamiliar to me, but my Jane, like the Lady Darcy, is descended from the people of the land of Israel. She does insist that such heritage does not preclude her from also worshiping an imaginary jovial man in a red suit. I am still not certain that I understand the new gods of this realm.” Savory smells wafted out of the oven as Thor opened it to check on the bacon. “Darcy had packages delivered to us last week, with instructions that they could not be opened until today. On penalty of a most ominous and unspoken consequence. She also advised me on appropriate items for filling Jane’s sock.”

Vision frowned. “I hope my gift is appropriate, I did not know that I would need anything for a sock.” He glanced at the bottle of wine for Jane Foster – purchased with advice from Friday – and the case of mixed craft beers he had painstakingly researched and put together for Thor after the man invited Vision to Christmas at his home.

“My understanding is that the socks are filled by parents for children, or by a loved one for another adult. But this, like the confounding rules on consuming pancakes, is still somewhat unclear to me.”

The first stack of pancakes were set on the counter, looking golden and fluffy and interesting. Vision had eaten pancakes before. They were one of the first foods on his list. Wanda had liked them so much he had purchased a mix and several different kinds of syrup for them to try together – but he had not had the opportunity to show her before -

Vision shook his head to clear it. He pushed the thin wedges of melon away and set down the knife, breathing slowly as Mr. Stark often tried to do when he was overwhelmed.

“We have a festival on Asgard not unlike this Yule of Midgard,” Thor said easily, flipping fried cakes with flourish. “My mother, the Queen Frigga, always insisted that it was a time for reminding those close to us of our care for them, and for mending bonds that had been broken or strained. This is similar to Yule, is it not? The giving of presents to illustrate what is in our hearts?”

“I suppose it is,” Vision replied carefully, aware that Thor had been very close to his mother, and only spoke of her with great love and respect.

“Perhaps, then, it is a lesson that can be extended beyond only this season. To reach out across frayed ties and seek, with an open heart and mind, that which has been lost.” Vision nodded, thinking not about the sleek silver tree in the living room and the small pile of wrapped gifts beneath it. Nor about the lumpy socks displayed by the wood burning stove or the peppermint candies hooked over the stair railing. He was not even considering the warmth of his invitation from Thor, and the welcome that Jane Foster had expressed to him in joining them both.

He thought instead of sharing fried cakes, and lessons in American fashion, and happy laughter and bright smiles and the smell of cherry blossoms drifting from soft hair pressed against his shoulder.

The bedroom door opened and Jane Foster stepped out fully awake, although still wearing her pajamas. Vision blinked. The pants and matching button-up shirt were covered in small white felines holding what appeared to be weapons which improbably shot lasers. She handed Vision a lumpy sock of his own, announcing that Mr. Stark had sent it for him, before smacking a wet kiss on Thor’s bicep and proceeding to pour coffee into a cup and stirring it with a peppermint stick.

_Christmas is a strange observance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor guy. Do you think Wanda would like a lumpy sock?


	6. Shelter

**December 27, 2016**

  
“You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. Are you nervous? Because you don’t need to be nervous. But it’s okay. If you are. Nervous. But I’m not. Really. Nervous.”

“Do you want to back out? It’s cool if you do. Lots of people do.” She pushed around some tools on the workbench, lining them up carefully.

“Psh. What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Tony needed to make a stand here. He knew that. He looked at the kid and knew that no matter how calm and uncaring she appeared, inside she was dying a little. A lot. Waiting for him to say the right thing. He knew, because that had been him once. A long time ago. Hoping that someone would care, and steeling himself because he knew they wouldn’t. Unfortunately, Tony rarely seemed to know what the right thing to say was.

“I don’t know how to...dad well. Or about...good dading, or whatever. And it isn’t often – never really – that I admit to not knowing something, so take this for the historic event it is, spychanic. I might be...out of my depth here. I...well, I can fucking guarantee I will make mistakes. Like that. Right there. I should say frick, right? Or fudge, or something?”

“How the fuck would I know?” She looked up at him then, really looked, and the worry in her eyes floored him. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know much about dads either.”

“Oh. Well.” Tony tried to think of something comforting, but it was difficult to be comforting when his own stomach was twisting with the looming weight of responsibility. “What...what do you think a dad should do? I mean, we could come up with a list right? Performance objectives? Metrics? A quarterly achievement review where we could discuss necessary changes or opportunity for growth. That, that could work. I can deal with that. What do you think?”

“Baseball games,” she said softly. There was another long pause, and then she chanced a second look at him. “Or soccer, or something. On tv dads take their kids to baseball games.”

“Oh-kay. I like that. We can do that. Friday, note that down.”

“Of course, Boss.”

“And...we could have a project, or something. Together. So we can talk or whatever and we don’t have to, you know, emote about shit.”

“Communication with ample opportunity for deflection. You are talking my style kid. We can finish the Shelby together, for starters.”

“My friend Abe, his dad doesn’t live with him, but he helps Abe with his math homework, sometimes. And...he offered to get him a hooker, for his thirteenth birthday.

“Um...” Tony vividly recalled his first sexual encounter, and the high priced escort that came with a card from Obie. At the time it had been easily the coolest and most gratifying physical experience of his young life. His therapist had helped him realize there were some very dark undertones to that memory. And not Dark Side of the Moon dark. Manipulative fucking bastard dark. Child predator dark. He did not want to get into that with the kid. Ever. And Pepper would definitely have something to say about it.

Carefully, he answered, “I’m good at math. But, it’s gonna have to be a big no on the hooker. Or gigolo. Or equivalent person. I’ve seen this in movies. Pretty sure I’m supposed to polish a shotgun when dates come to pick you up. Not that I have a shotgun. Would an arc pulsor work? Or maybe a Hulk stun rifle? I think I have one of those lying around somewhere.” He fiddled with his glasses, sliding them off his face and hooking them through the neck of his t-shirt. Trying not to look like he was trying to be casual.

“What...what do you think a good kid does?” All of the tools were in parallel lines, and the kid was pushing her curls behind her ears, only to have them spring out again.

That was an easy question. He ticked off his fingers, “Loves their mom. Doesn’t kill anyone on purpose. Talks to someone if they are considering drugs, suicide, or sex.” He thought for another second. “Or becoming a super hero. That is definitely a parental discussion topic. And definitely not before you are eighteen. No – make that twenty-one. No one should fight Nazis or blow up major cities if they aren’t old enough to drink. Trust me, you’ll want a drink.”

“That’s...that’s it? You don’t want like, good grades or a scholarship to a fancy college or manners or ...I don’t know, learning German or something?”

“Uh, grades don’t really measure intelligence that well – and you are ludicrously smart. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to stand talking to you for more than thirty seconds. Plus, you are _satisfactory_ as a mechanic’s assistant. Trainable, which is more than I can say for my infantile robots. And, I don’t know if you know this, but I have more money than God. You don’t need a scholarship since I’m sure Yale could use an international airport. Not that you should go to Yale.” Tony shuddered, “Although it’s better than Brown. I don’t really have manners, so I’ll leave that between you and Pepper. And you already speak a second language, which is cool. And it gives you access to better food than German – have you had Bavarian cuisine? If I never see another heavy sauce it will be too soon.”

“So...” she pulled in a long breath and met his eyes, most of her anxiety smoothed away. In response, Tony felt his own nerves settling. “We’re good?”

“Yeah. I’m good if you are. And, hey, we’ve got Pepper. So if we really fuck, er, fudge,”

“Fuck’s fine,” she interrupted.

“-fuck this up, she’ll straighten us out.”

“Okay. Thanks...Tony?”

“Tony. Yeah, Tony’s fine.” He was nodding, finally allowing him to believe that this might work.

The door to the workshop opened and Darcy Lewis stood there, glaring. “What the hell, Tony? Pepper said she sent you two to get ready, like, an hour ago. The judge is here now to make this official and you look like you slept inside a carburetor.”

“That’s not really,” the kid began hesitantly, but Darcy interrupted.

“Maria, you look adorable. Filthy, but still just cute as a fucking button.” The kid scowled, clearly not liking the comparison. Darcy arched a brow, “Unless you would prefer an image of studied nonchalance? There’s clean clothes on your bed that walk the line between special event and not giving a damn – Darcy approved combo. I recommend washing your face too – but maybe you are going for more of an urban-warfare cosmetic situation. You make that call.”

“Hey,” Tony scowled, “you can’t talk to my kid-person that way.”

“She’s not yours until you sign the papers, Anthony,” Darcy fired back.

“Well, let’s go then.” Tony strode out of the garage, towing his-soon-to-be-daughter behind him. “First lesson about being a Stark, Junior: we set the dress code.”

He had cleared the doorway to the library, where Pepper, the judge, Happy, and Rhodey were waiting before he realized he and Maria were holding hands. It was surprisingly okay. Everyone gathered was staring; Pepper had an indecipherable look on her face. Tony dashed out his signature, handed the pen to the kid, who then handed it off to Pep. The love of Tony’s life was breathing shallowly, but her handwriting was steady.

“Second lesson,” he slung an arm around Maria Aguilar Stark’s shoulders and linked his free hand with Pepper’s, “there’s always a party.” He imagined that the hole where his arc reactor had been ached a little less than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a discussion with kattabaker regarding Tony and Obie's relationship, and I wanted to nod to that here. If Wanda begins to explore chaos magic, do you think she could bring Obie back to life just so Pepper could slap him? With her hand on fire?


	7. Auld Lang Syne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist just one more chapter in this story arc.

**December 31, 2016**

 

Barnes stared out at the island of Manhattan, sipping his drink and listening to the faint  _scritch_ of pencil on paper as Steve sketched  and the soft drone of the television reporting on Times Square . He kept  his back angled  against the arm of the couch  so that from the corner of his eye he could see the entry hall into the apartment, but his tension was already less than it had been at any of the safe houses in the last six months. Stark’s AI kept constant, tight surveillance and gave Steve access to any of the public area s and exterior feeds. Given the sheer number of cameras, Stark was almost as paranoid as Barnes. That helped him to feel more secure, that and the comforting Irish lilt of Friday – so similar to dozens of other neighborhood women that he could vaguely recall from his youth.

Even feeling like he had a defensible position, Steve at his side, and excellent ground preparation, he still calculated the cosine angle of the six best sniper positions for hitting the apartment window.

_ Distance: one thousand, four hundred, fifty-one meters.  Wind speed: seven point two meters per second,  ninety degrees, cross sheer at eight point nine meters per second within twelve meters of target. Spindrift- _

“Not a bad way to end the year,” Steve commented, interrupting Barnes’ thoughts. It was probably for the best. Wilson said there was nothing wrong with being aware of his surroundings and assessing vulnerabilities and exit strategies, but that he shouldn’t let that take over his ability to experience the present. Wilson was kind of a stilted asshole sometimes.

That didn’t mean he was wrong. Just that Barnes wasn’t going to admit it.

“Better than last year.” As 2015 had closed, Barnes had been returning to his bedroll in a condemned building in Ostrava, covered in blood, and anticipating digging a slug out of his thigh. He had been desperately holding onto a vicious satisfaction over the death of every person he had found in the latest HYDRA base and the destruction assets there so that he wouldn’t fall into a rage\- and fear- fueled catatonic state. The files he had unearthed there had nearly set him back to the beginning of his recovery. A video image of him being waterboarded for some less than perfectly achieved goal while a soldier carefully stripped the layers of skin from the soles of his feet. It had been difficult, during parts, to hear the scientist droning on about healing factor over Barnes’ own screams.

Steve didn’t need to hear about that right now.

“Food here is okay.” Barnes looked at the empty pizza boxes, delivery from someplace that would put damn near anything on a pie – the sunny side egg was better than he thought it would be – but the crust was that perfect mix of chewy and crisp and the red sauce had a hint of spice to it that only came from homemade. A far cry from the IV of saline he self-administered and flavorless jerky he had eaten a year ago.

Steve snorted, “ Just okay?  Don’t let Natasha hear you say that. This is her favorite place. Though she likes the one with the bacon and kale.”

Barnes got a vague memory of a little girl, perhaps ten or eleven, but too thin for her age. Her eyes were huge in her face, red hair scraped back in a ponytail. The other girls, the  few who also had done well enough for a reward, were eating so quickly he was sure they would be sick.  In contrast,  Natalia  had  bit ten each strip of bacon precisely, chewing carefully and savoring the flavor. He had dropped a towel next to her food so she could wipe the blood spatter off her face. She had done the best. He had been proud. 

He took another slow sip to help clear his mind and sat forward to pull a brownie from the nearly empty plate Steve had made up earlier. His friend made a face – Steve didn’t think whiskey and chocolate mixed – and Barnes took an obnoxiously large bite to prove him wrong. It wasn’t the best combination, but it was still pretty good.

“Your girl coming back soon?”

Predictably, Steve cursed and chucked a balled up paper at his head. Barnes had to shove the rest of his desert in his mouth to free up a hand for catching.

“Ain’t my girl, jerk. Knock it off.”

“Could be, if you’d ever work up the balls to ask.”

“Could be you could end up with your face on the floor, calling ‘uncle’.”

Barnes widened his eyes, “And whose goin’ to be doing that?”

“Me.”

Barnes snorted, “Yeah? And what army?” He tossed the paper back and Steve caught it just as deftly, smoothing it out and tucking it into his notebook.

“She’s upstate,” Steve answered. Barnes was a little surprised, he had expected Steve to try and bluff longer. “Thor left today, so she was going to stay with Dr. Foster until Tony comes back on Monday.”

Barnes did not want to talk about Stark, so instead he said, “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah.” Steve was smiling a little bit. Barnes knew that smile, the twitch at the corner of Steve’s mouth and the worried wrinkle between his eyes. 

His best friend was a great huge idiot most of the time – even before he’s been  a great little idiot .  Steve threw himself into danger without a thought for a plan until it was almost too late, and never cared more for his own  safety than he did for standing up for what he thought was right.  Stev e deserved Darcy.  _God help him,_ _that might be both a blessing and a punishment._ As his best friend, Barnes wouldn’t tease him too much, and he’d try to help Steve out, although every saint in heaven probably wasn’t enough to make Steve smooth – even if they would listen to the prayers of someone as certainly hell bound as Bucky Barnes.

But he still had to tease  _some_ . It was his responsibility.

“Finally you can start pulling your weight around here. Let me know if she’s got a pretty friend. You owe me a double.”

“Only pretty friends of hers I know are Pepper and Dr. Foster,” Steve grinned suddenly, and Barnes wondered if the Smithsonian had anything in their exhibit about Captain America’s malicious streak. On the tv, the ball dropped and New York rang in 2017. “But I’ll make sure to bring up your burning desire to settle down and meet a nice girl with Darcy at the first opportunity.”

Darcy Lewis, beautiful motor-mouth and ball buster, interested in Barnes’ love life, or lack thereof?  He scowled, this time chucking a brownie. Steve, the asshole, caught it in his mouth.

“Fuck off, Stevie.”


End file.
